


it'll keep

by decoying



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decoying/pseuds/decoying
Summary: John’s glad it’s dark. He’s gotta be as red as a glowing fire.
Relationships: Javier Escuella/John Marston
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	it'll keep

“Don’t understand why Dutch got us both out here. Don’t he trust me?”

John kicks at the red dirt, mud caking at the toe of his boot.

“I wouldn’t,” Javier says. He pokes an elbow into his ribs. John jerks back like it’s fire. “Jesus. Will you lighten up?”

 _“Sorry.”_ Must be the woods, making him so jumpy. To himself, he mutters, “God damn Raiders.”

Javier’s eyes shine bright, reflected off a moon that’s as big and bright as a coin.

“Maybe if you took more watches with me,” he says, “then you wouldn’t scare so easy, eh?”

“Leave me alone,” John mutters, sounding about as young as Jack. Younger even, when he pushes Javier’s shoulder and it goes nowhere.

“Hey, I’m making sure you stay alive out here, friend.” He props one foot on the rotten stump of a tree that’s seen better days than half of them. “You could say thank you.”

“Didn’t ask for your help,” he says, and Christ, he don’t sound young, he sounds _drunk_. He’s sober as a priest, but around Javier, it seems his tongue’s always thick with something.

“Well you need it, cowboy.”

John prickles. Always with the god damn _teasing_.

He gets in Javier’s face, hot breath on him when he says, “What’s that mean, huh?”

Javier recoils, waving a hand in front of his face like his breath is any less rank.

“I do my work same as everybody else,” John spits. “Hell, more than half the bastards in this place! And what do I get for it? _Nothin’.”_

“The fuck happened to you, Marston? When’d you get so -- whiny.” 

Two hands on his chest, Javier pushes him back. For a second, John stumbles. Then, like he always does, he gives like he gets. 

“I ain’t no different than I was!” He yells, the sound of it echoing off the trees. Woods thick with bugs and birds and gators, none of it even has the decency to give him pause.

 _“Idiota,”_ Javier hisses, clapping a hand over his mouth, “you want every Raider to know we’re alone?”

Into his palm, John’s voice is half-muffled when he says, _“I ain’t stupid.”_

Javier looks at him, a second. He drops his hand, but stays close. 

Smirk on his face, he says, “No, you’re not.”

And his face shifts to something John hardly knows enough to recognize. He’s never been good with guessing neither, so when Javier jumps forward and kisses him quick, quicker than John could ever draw a gun, he jumps back twice as far.

“What -- the fuck?”

Smug, is how he looks. Pleased with himself. And John? Probably, all he looks is pink.

“You fucking with me now, Escuella?” His voice isn’t like it should be, low with threat and caution, but his brain’s dragging itself through swamp water and thick mud and he can barely get proper words out, whatever the volume.

Javier sits coiled like a snake. 

He takes his hat off, puts down his rifle, and takes a breath.

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” he says. 

And again he strikes.

In the woods of Clemmen’s Point, fifty feet from the only family they’ve ever known, Javier’s kissing John like he’s starving. And John, he’s kissing back just as eager, all of it messy and graceless.

Javier’s hands are on John’s back, gripping hard with fingers digging in. Nothing soft and sweet about it. John’s head is empty as a summer sky. There’s no room for anything else given the knee between his legs, the lips stealing all his air. 

He feels about a thousand times better than he has in months. Years, if he’s generous; and the more this amps up, well -- he’s feeling mighty generous.

But instead of giving, they compete for it. 

They’re not slow, not careful, not even all that kind. It ain’t rough, exactly -- no malice in the tickle of a mustache on his cheek or the splay of one big hand on his hairy stomach, just sitting there, just feeling, just for the warmth. Not that they need more with how they’re sweating. John knows they would be soaked even if it weren’t for -- this, whatever this is. Fuck, they have to name it now? John’s terrible with names. He’s shit at sex, too. But his hand’s moving lower the way it seems to know how, the heel of his palm pushing flat against Javier’s crotch. And with the noise he makes -- well god damn, maybe John’s not half-bad.

It’s a good noise. It’s loud and reedy, and it’s right in his ear. He’s never heard a man like this. That’s about as confusing as anything else is.

It’s not as if he didn’t know that Javier’s got a nice voice; best part of any party is when he picks up a guitar and John’s already too drunk to do anything but listen. More than once he’s fallen asleep to him humming and plucking away, soft as fresh snow, sweeter than a mother’s lullaby. 

This isn’t that. This is worlds away from that. 

He pets at him harder just to hear it again.

Javier groans in his ear, and before John can stop himself, he laughs. The fuckin’ idiot Marston, he laughs.

Javier stops his rocking, stops his kissing. He looks John dead in the eyes. 

“Something funny, Marston?”

If annoyed is the bullseye and riled is the shell, he’s half a dozen rings from the center. John knows he’s not serious, because the sound still goes right to his cock.

“Your voice,” he says, like a fuckin’ moron.

Javier steps on his foot.

“Ow! Shit, meant it’s _nice_. I like it, you goddamn fool.”

And Javier laughs. Head thrown back, skin glowing in the light of the moon, he laughs wild and unashamed. There’s melody in it, and so much freedom -- it’s as pretty as when he sings, and John starts to laugh again, too. 

Until Javier’s hand goes to his crotch. 

No trouble finding his target this time, and he _squeezes_ , and it’s on purpose, the bastard, and suddenly John can’t make much noise at all.

“What else you like, amigo?”

If anything comes out of John’s mouth now, it likely sounds the same as a dying goat.

Javier fingers his waistband. He meets his eyes, murmurs, “This okay, right?”

John nods dumbly because it’s all he can make his body do, knees rubbery as his dick is hard, and then there’s a hand on him proper and it’s stroking firm and sure and right now, the whole fuckin’ Raider army could march through the woods, and John couldn’t hope to stop them.

His arms hang loose around Javier’s shoulders. Fingers tangled as they are in the threads of his sarape, the blood flow’s cutting off. Maybe that’s why everything feels so far away, his skin tingling the way it would before a lightning storm. Javier’s only making it worse -- mouthing at his neck, ticking everywhere he goes. His hips buck up on their own. John bites his own bicep, doing anything to stay smart, stay quiet.

With his free hand, Javier grabs John’s chin. Tipping it up, he says, “Come on. You got a pretty little voice, too.”

And John’s vision goes dark. 

_“Shit,”_ he gasps, and everything in the whole wide world is silent for a few blissful seconds.

He’s panting when he comes to. Leaned heavy against Javier, feeling limp as a dead body, it takes him a handful of seconds to collect himself.

That is, until Javier says, insistent, “What, you think this is a charity?”

There’s a smile there, hidden in his voice. 

And John wants to do this. It’s only fair, sure. Maybe after Javier threw him over his shoulder up in the mountains, John’s been looking for a way to pay him back. But really, more than anything, John wants him to feel the way he does right now. 

So he does what he’s good for: he uses his hands.

It’s like learning to shoot on a different gun. He knows this game. He’s been alone a long time, and he never deserved for Abigail to do something so nice for him. Him and his hand are well-acquainted, so this shouldn’t be as new as it is. 

Trouble is -- Javier’s what’s new.

He don’t feel the same. It’s similar enough, but the angle’s all wrong, his wrist cramping up from inexperience, and he never did have much patience. With his own cock softening in his underclothes and all the clarity that brings, his mind is buzzing like an angry swarm again. 

What kind of man can’t even do this right? He’ll fuck it up, they’ll part ways, and he’ll never seen the man’s eyes again until Pinkertons fill them all with lead.

His hand stutters. Javier’s hips jump up, searching for more of it.

“Slow down, friend. Not going nowhere.”

When he dares to look at them, Javier’s eyes are dark and sharp. He wants this, but he won’t wait for it. 

John’s glad it’s dark. He’s gotta be as red as a glowing fire.

But he loosens his grip, and, determined, he moves again. Javier breathes through his nose like a bull, heaving out all the air he’s got when John twists his wrist. When he starts to pant, John thinks maybe even he can do this. 

One, two, three more strokes from base to tip, and Javier bites at his shoulder and whines a second before there’s wet on his palm. 

He breathes hot into his neck, his dick twitching against John’s palm, and John shivers. _He_ did that. Javier’s boneless as a fish, cracking a lazy smile, and John did that.

They fix their clothes in slow motion. Their eyes don’t meet just yet, and John opens his mouth. Probably to say something profoundly stupid, like _thank you_. Because he’s tired as the dead and buzzing with something dangerously like affection, and he’s got no idea how to say how much he likes it.

Javier wipes his hands on the leaves of some godforsaken plant that don’t deserve the mess. He jerks his chin towards the lake. 

“Good time for a bath, eh amigo?” Javier winks at him.

John nods, because he’s shit with words, and Javier’s content to hear his silence. Instead, John finds his hat from where it fell and pulls it low over his eyes, trying not to look bashful, and failing.

Dawn’s on the horizon, the first hint of light peeking just as shy over the water. Charles and Arthur will be up for their watch soon.

Javier claps his shoulder and squeezes, and John keeps his mouth closed up. 

Whatever he’s got to say -- he’s sure it’ll keep.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so soft for these two. i never really planned on writing this so who knows where it came from... happy for them tho


End file.
